


Nerves

by 7slash20



Category: Starsky&Hutch/Highlander The Series Crossover
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7slash20/pseuds/7slash20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch has a decision to make and sometimes a draft beer and the kindness of strangers can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nerves

**Author's Note:**

> I found some old stories on my hard drive; maybe some of you have a s much fun as I had re-discovering them.  
> Be warned: I'm not a native speaker and the stories are not beta-ed. Read at own risk!  
> (DMS is the name I used for my Starsky&Hutch stuff, just in case you wondered...)

Nerves

By DMS

 

Hutch had left his car, a third hand, 12-year-old Ford Taurus, at Venice Beach to take a walk through his old neighborhood. A walk would clear his mind; at least he hoped so.

In the eleven years since he had moved away, Venice had changed a lot. A multitude of new shops –computer stores and coffee shops mostly- had opened up while the shops where he had been a regular customer like the Chinese cleaning service or the health food store had vanished. He felt oddly homesick in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

Walking down Ocean Drive deep in thoughts, he almost went past the apartment building in which he had lived way back when.

VENICE PLACE

Hutch’s eyes were drawn up to the large letters, still there, and to the windows of his old apartment. It was slowly getting dark, yet there was no light to be seen from inside the flat.  
_Probably nobody home…_

Hutch gaze went down to the front door. The carved tree was still there and Hutch suddenly felt the need to push the door open like he had done a thousand times over the years, climb the steep stairs by two, feel for the keys on the doorframe and take a long look at his old flat. The place where he had spent some of the most wonderful years of his life. Years when he and Starsky had been partners. 

_So much had changed since then, not only the address._ Hutch sighed. _The new resident would probably either get a heart-attack or shoot me point blank._

Turning his gaze came back to the basement he noticed that the restaurant was gone – replaced by a bar. The bright-red neon sign above the door read ‘Joe’s’. 

Hutch stood on the pavement, undecided what to do.  
He stared through the window into the bar, silently comparing it to The Pits or Huggy’s or other bars he had known in Bay City before he’d moved away.  
There were round tables some with two, others with four chairs. Small lamps dangling from the ceiling over each one illuminated the polished wooden table tops, but left the rest of the room in comfortable twilight. The contrast between light and shade gave the room shape and brought it to life.  
Hutch put the sides of his hands to the glass to get a better look inside. In the back of the bar was a small stage: A piano, drums and a guitar were silently waiting for audience. 

“Wanna come in?” 

Hutch jumped; he hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t noticed that the door had been pushed open from the inside or the man who had appeared at the entrance. 

“You look like you could do with a beer.” 

The man was about his age, Hutch estimated, maybe a bit older. The steel-colored hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of sophistication.  
_No bald spots._ Hutch realized with a wry grin. 

“Yeah, why not.” He said, taking a step towards the door. “It’s not as if I’m expected somewhere.” 

The man stepped back awkwardly, leaning heavily onto a cane Hutch hadn’t noticed until then. 

Hutch went straight up to the bar and listened to the heavy steps behind his back. Sitting down on one of the barstools, Hutch tried hard not to stare at the man who slowly made his way behind the counter. 

“So – what is it? Beer, Scotch – Vodka?” 

“A draft beer would be fine.” 

“I’m Joe, by the way,” the man said, putting the glass down in front of Hutch’s. 

“Ken. -The place is yours, now?” 

When Joe nodded, Hutch lifted the glass in a mock salute, took a small sip, then stared unfocussed into the wall of bottles barely registering his own reflection in the mirror. Joe busied himself with drying glasses, before he limbed back to his only customer and said: “You wanna talk about it?” 

“It’s nothing…”  
Hutch finished the rest of his beer in one large draft and was almost immediately rewarded with a fresh one. 

“I see,” Joe said. “But maybe you wanna talk about nothing anyway…” 

Hutch toyed with his glass for a moment, pondering the idea of actually talking about the problem, which was none or should be none or… “I was asked to get married.” 

“But – that’s great!” Joe smiled. “Isn’t it?” 

“Well, you know it’s a case of once burnt…” 

“…twice shy? So you’ve been married before? And it didn’t work out?”  
Joe waited for the curd nod Hutch gave in confirmation and added: “Doesn’t mean it won’t work out second time around. You know just last week I read …” 

“And what makes you the fucking expert?” Hutch bit his tongue; _what the hell made him lash out at the man?_  
“Sorry,” he mumbled, still irritated by his irrational behavior. 

“’S okay,” the bartender replied with a casual shrug, backing away. “None of my business.”  
He limbed to the other end of the bar, then turned sharply, came back and said: “I am the fucking expert because I’ve been there, done that.” 

They stared at each other silently, until Hutch turned his eyes away.  
“It’s different. It’s… not that easy.”  
Looking at Joe, realizing the man had settled to listen, he said: “My first marriage didn’t end with two friends parting.” 

“It usually doesn’t.” 

“But when we got married, everything seemed to be perfect. Our parents were bursting with pride when Van came down the aisle. Everybody thought of us as the most beautiful couple ever. Our future was planned. I would go to college and university, get a degree and would start in my father’s consultancy. We would have a house, two beautiful kids, my wife would be the star in the community. Dinner parties. Charity events. Things like that.”  
Hutch found Joe’s gaze resting on his face.  
“I’m babbling. How’s that barkeepers always get people to talk about intimate things?” 

“You’re not babbling, Ken. You need somebody to talk to. Somebody who’s not involved.” Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Joe added: “Just my two cents.” 

Hutch nodded. 

“So – what’s the problem? Your parents?” 

“No,” Hutch sighed, “yes, they’re part of the problem. I ruined everything when I left college to join the police academy. My father wouldn’t talk to me for years, my wife was mad as hell and it didn’t take more than a few months until she sued me for divorce. That’s been so many years –almost a lifetime ago- and the relationship to my parents is still strained. Heck, I’m sixty years old, my parents are well in their eighties and I still… I’m the black sheep in the family, no career worth of a Hutchinson, no house, no beautiful wife, no grandchildren. Not even a dog. Just an ex-cop in Bay City.” 

“But there’s somebody who loves you.” 

“Yeah,” Hutch smiled for the first time in… a while. “But my parents wouldn’t think of…” He interrupted himself. “It’s not what they’d consider a good match.” 

“You’re in love?” 

Hutch’s smile broadened. “Yup.” 

“That’s the main point about getting married, isn’t it?” 

Hutch nodded, emptying his glass, not wanting to talk about the main problem about getting married again. He couldn’t tell a stranger. He couldn’t even tell Starsky. But he would have to answer Starsky soon, he was already hurt because of his ongoing silence. How much more would _‘no’_ hurt? 

“A case of nerves before the wedding?” Joe’s voice interrupted his reverie. 

Hutch pointed with the bottom of his beer glass towards Joe’s left hand. “You married?” 

Joe looked down, momentarily surprised by the shining golden band on his left ring finger and a smile crept through his beard and up into his eyes.  
“Yeah,” he said with pride. “Yeah, I’m married.” 

“Long?” 

“Seven months, eight days,” Joe replied without hesitation. 

“Kinda newly wed, then?” Hutch grinned. “Love on first sight?” 

“Yeah, I guess it was. Though we both didn’t realize then.” 

Hutch looked at him questioningly. 

“Took us a while to figure it out. About a decade to be more specific.” 

“How come?” 

Joe shrugged. “We worked for the same… company. Saw each other quite frequently. Got friends. Close, you know?” 

“So?” Hutch urged him on. 

“Well, you know, one day you realize everything has changed while you weren’t looking. And you meet your friend’s gaze and suddenly – you just know. And-” Joe hesitated. “And my friend knew too.” 

“Just so?” Hutch asked, mouth suddenly dry. 

“No.” Joe said and his smile vanished almost instantly. “I… I almost lost him. That made all the difference.” 

Hutch gasped. “…almost lost him,” he repeated hoarsely. “Just like us.” 

“Just like you?” 

“He was shot. Took three bullets… suffered massive damage… a body can only withstand…” His voice trailed off. He was lost again, felt himself spiralling down the abyss, re-living, re-suffering the shooting. 

A tentative touch on his wrist and a gentle, low voice brought him back acutely. “Does _he_ have a name?” 

Hutch flinched. _Damn, now he had told a stranger about being gay. Great._

But Joe’s face didn’t show the slightest sign of aversion. Just sympathy. 

“Starsk.” Hutch replied, then corrected himself. “Dave.” He shook his head as if trying to shake off the memories and said: “And your wife? How come you got married after all those years?” 

Somebody had stepped up to the bar right next to Hutch, waiting patiently to place an order. 

“My _wife_?” Joe asked. A wicked grin spread on his face. “Well, why don’t you ask _her_ yourself?” 

Hutch turned his head to the direction Joe’s grin indicated and stared into the hazel eyes of his neighbor. Hazel eyes, dark stubbly hair – and definitely male. 

“I’m sorry,” Hutch said, blushing furiously, “I assumed… I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I didn’t give too much indication on my partner’s gender, so it was only natural for you to assume I had a wife instead of a husband.” Joe said with a smile, serving two fresh draft beers. 

“Love, you read my mind,” the man said, then turned to Hutch. “Hi, I’m Adam Dawson. And I’m _not_ Joe’s wife.” 

They clinked their glasses and Adam drained his in one long draft.  
“Boy, I needed that.” He said, slightly out of breath, licking the foam off his upper lip, before he went to the nearest table, where a stack of books sat. 

“You said you met him long time ago?” 

“Yeah, I see what you mean, but he’s older than he looks.” Joe said with a smile at his husband. 

“And you’re- No, forget it.” 

“Gay?” 

“Obviously,” Hutch said, blushing. 

Joe looked at him, waiting for the rest of the sentence. 

“-legally wed?” 

“Yeah, we lived in Europe for quite a while. They seem to be somewhat more progressive-” 

“-liberal-” Adam threw in from his table, earning a grin from his husband. 

“They seem to be more _liberal_ over there. But…” 

“Yeah, I know what you’re about to say. We have heard the news from San Francisco, too. HE has… that was what brought up the idea… I guess.” 

“And?” 

“Why did you get married, you could have lived without the certificate, couldn’t you?” 

“I wanted it.” Adam had returned to the bar, leaning with his elbow onto the shining wood. “I wanted all the world to see…” 

“No, that’s not true. I wanted the same, but you were the one to bring it up.” 

“What are you trying to say? If I hadn’t brought it up, we would still live pretending…” 

“We never pretended anything. We just didn’t tell it from the mountain.” Joe cut in. “But yes, if you hadn’t asked… I don’t think I would have found the guts.”  
Both men smiled fondly at each other, while Adam’s hand covered Joe’s. “I’m glad I asked.” 

Hutch watched them, eyes burning.  
“But the certificate didn’t change anything, I mean, you don’t love each other more because  
of a piece of paper, do you?” 

Adam’s gaze returned to Hutch’s face, examining him for a moment, while his hand stayed with Joe’s. “No, you’re absolutely right. It didn’t change anything. – But- if it doesn’t make a difference- why _not_ do it?” 

“You make it sound like an easy decision to be made.” 

Adam smiled. “So it’s not the decision that’s difficult, but the delivery of the news?” 

Hutch sighed.  
_Telling Starsky he would like to be legally married was…_ He sighed again. 

Adam and Joe looked at each other and said in perfect unison: “Lentils and chestnuts.” 

Hutch frowned, shaking his head. “Sorry, you lost me.” 

Joe granted Adam the word with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.  
“Can you cook?” Adam asked Hutch. 

“Yes, uhm, why?” 

Joe produced a notepad and a pen from behind the bar and slid both items over the counter to Adam, who started scribbling immediately. 

“Adam cooked it for me sometimes.” Joe explained. “On special occasions.” 

“You can tell him,” Adam encouraged his husband without looking up.  
There was a short moment of silence, before Adam’s eyes made contact with Joe’s. 

“After I was shot,” Joe said slowly, not taking his eyes off Adam. 

“And…” 

“After you came back after… after Richie’s death.” Joe’s voice was hoarse. 

“And…” Adam gently prodded; he ripped off the page he had written the recipe on and slid it over to Hutch. 

When Joe didn’t answer, Adam smiled, covered the broader hand with his again and said: “When I asked you to marry me.” 

“Right.” Joe beamed. 

“You married him because of a dinner?” Hutch asked incredulously. 

“No, not because of that. But-” Joe grinned at Hutch, “it sure helped.” 

  
  
  
When Starsky came home, Hutch was in the kitchen, humming while he cooked. 

“Smells good,” Starsky said, sniffing. “New recipe?”  
Embracing Hutch from behind, he peeked over the shoulder into the pot. “Doesn’t look good, though.” 

“Lentils and chestnuts,” Hutch replied with a smile, “somebody told me it’s for special occasions only.” 

“Better be good,” Starsky mumbled, getting himself a beer from the fridge. 

“What’s this?” 

“Huh?” Hutch said, stirring the mix cautiously. 

“There’s an envelope sitting on our kitchen table.” 

“Yeah, I know, I put it there.” Hutch said, not turning. 

“What is it?” 

“Go figure it out for yourself, partner.” 

Starsky stood next to him then, holding the envelope up at a corner.  
“Do I really want to know?” 

“You asked.” 

Starsky sighed, put the beer down, then ripped the envelope open. 

Hutch waited until Starsky had realized the destination given on the two plane tickets, before he said: “My answer is, I do.” 


End file.
